


One Hundred And Seventy-Five Days

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Death, F/M, Reader Insert, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid gave me a drabble (a drabble, ha!) request for “Call Me When You’re Sober” by Evanescence and MOC!Dean. This is what my twisted little mind came up with.





	

One hundred and seventy-three days.

Fifty-two ignored calls.

Over four hundred text messages.

One hundred and seventy-two nights with little sleep.

Six hunts.

Two victims you couldn’t save.

And one desperate need to pick up the phone and call him.

You missed him, so much. It was the hardest thing you’d ever done to walk away from the bunker, from the endless car crash that was your relationship with Dean Winchester, and put several states and a thousand or more miles between you. It was even more difficult to keep tabs on his location, whilst making sure he couldn’t find yours.

Because he was trying to find you. Slightly surprising, he hadn’t given up, and you only knew that because forty-eight of those calls you’d steadily ignored had been voicemails from him, his broken and sobbing pleas for you to come home practically ripping your heart from your chest. But he was drunk in  _ every single call _ . There was never a time that Dean would call you sober. His messages were sloppy, misspelled, always under the influence of the alcohol he’d come to use as a crutch because of the stupid mark on his arm.

The Mark of Cain had spelt the end of your doomed relationship. No amount of love you had for him, that you still  _ held _ for him, could fix the vicious red tattoo on his arm. He’d become a different person, a different Dean to the man you’d fallen for all those years ago when you were still bright eyed and optimistic about the world.

Now you existed. Hunt after hunt, run down house after crappy motel. It was a life with an expiry date, and you wondered whether you would welcome it, simply let it happen or fight back. Right now, you weren’t sure which option was more suited to your frame of mind.

Streetlights lit up the road ahead, and you sighed heavily, turning the radio up a little. You were a few miles outside of your destination, near Phoenix, headed for a possible werewolf hunt. Four bodies had turned up in the last month, all missing their hearts, victims mauled almost beyond recognition. It wasn’t unusual these days to find a werewolf that could turn outside of the full moon, and you were confident this would be a set-em-up-knock-em-down case.

If you could keep your mind on it.

Your phone started to vibrate across the seat next to you, Dean’s name flashing up on the screen. A quick glance at the clock on the dashboard showed the time as near midnight, and you sighed heavily, knowing if you answered that call, he’d be drunk again.

It rang for another thirty seconds, before going silent and you eyed it briefly before concentrating back on the road. Six miles later, you couldn’t shake the burning feeling of the call out of your head, and you pulled over to the side of the road, picking up the offending item and unlocking the screen.

A single voicemail taunted you, and you clicked on the notification, calling the number for your messages and listening through the droning announcement.

_ You have one new voicemail. _

_ “It’s me. Again.” _

He sounded clearer than he had before, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the almost painful thumping of your heart in your chest.

_“I’ve been trying...I am...I don’t even know what to say. Sam is...and Cas... they’re looking for a way to get rid of the Mark. I know you left because...because I can’t deal with it.”_ He paused, and you heard him sigh heavily. _“We lost Charlie. Trying to fix things. And I...I did...I did something I’m not proud of. I’m trying to be better, but I can’t...I’m sorry for how things turned out, Y/N. I miss you. I...I…”_ It was easy to hear the hesitation in his voice, and tears filled your eyes with how much you missed him too. _“God, I hope you’re just driving or sleeping and that I’m not talking to your voicemail because something bad has happened. Jeff Calson said he’d seen you in Montana a few weeks back.”_ The ghoul hunt you’d helped out on - Jeff was an old contact. You had no idea Dean even knew him. _“I miss you. I love you so goddamn much. I wish I hadn’t broken us, baby. It just felt like the best choice at the time. You deserved so much better.”_

Your head dropped forward onto the steering wheel as Dean sighed again, and you ached for him. Had you walked away too soon? Had you given up too easily? He was trying to fix it, you knew that, but the past was still there.

_ “I remember when we met. In Vegas. Hunting the ghost of that chorus girl? You were so damn strong and feisty. Knew I never stood a chance.” _ He laughed.  _ “I wish I hadn’t been the one to take that from you. Wish I could undo it all.”  _ You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips at the memory. Dean hadn’t been sure how to deal with you at first, and when you’d eventually falling into bed, all tangled limbs and hours of heavy, sweaty pleasure...it had been a revelation.  _ “Wish I could hold you one last time, before this all goes to shit.” _

He was planning something. You’d been around him too long not to recognise that tone of voice.

_ “Just...let me know you’re okay. So I know.” _

The voicemail clicked off, and you stared at the screen until it went dark, the little red light at the top indicating a low battery. A truck passed your car, making your smaller vehicle rock in its wake. Slowly, your thumb hovered over the screen, unlocking it again, before pulling up your messages. You typed quickly, before your mind reminded you that this was probably a bad idea.

_ “Whittman. Outside Phoenix, AZ. Werewolf hunt.” _

The message sent instantly, and you exhaled a relieved breath of air, before quickly turning the GPS on and throwing it into the back seat. It was probably a mistake, but he’d find you, and maybe you could have closure. Either way, life was too short, especially for a hunter, and you’d gone nearly one hundred and seventy-four days without seeing his face.

*****

The grass was wet underneath your back, and soaking into your cotton jacket when you heard the rumble of the Impala at the edge of the park. When the engine cut and the door slammed, you managed to turn your head, seeing long bowlegs silhouetted against Baby’s headlights. A smile crossed your face, despite the blood dribbling from the corner of your lips.

‘Y/N!’ Dean’s voice rang out, and you opened your mouth to respond, only managing to squeak out to him. He moved, checking your car, parked badly at the gates, before he swung around to check the perimeter of the small grassy area.

His eyes must have landed on the dead werewolf first, the corpse lying half across the little stony path to the centre of the park, and you heard him cuss softly. Sucking in a wet breath, feeling the blood practically bubbling in your lungs, you cried out again, managing a slightly louder noise this time. Dean saw you then, his feet making scuffled noises in the gravel as he sprinted towards you.

‘Shit, shit, Y/N, no, baby, shit.’ He skidded to a halt, dropping to his knees at your side. You smiled, feeling so goddamn happy to see him, despite the state you were in. The werewolf had gotten in some good hits; there was a puncture wound under the right side of your ribs, probably the source of the blood you were slowly drowning in. Deep claw marks ran from the left side of your neck to your shoulder, the red shirt you were wearing almost black where it was saturated with blood.

‘Dean -’ You rasped, willing your hand to move, just to touch him one last time. ‘De-’ It wasn’t happening. Your fingers twitched but refused to move.

‘Y/N, fuck...why didn’t...why didn’t you wait -’ There were tears in his eyes, but he looked clearer than he had in months, more focused. God, you wanted to touch him.

‘I...came to scope out...werewolf jumped me...I wasn’t...wasn’t…’ You coughed, blood staining your lips, and briefly, you entertained the illogical thought that Dean wouldn’t want to kiss you with blood all over your face. ‘Didn’t expect him.’

Dean nodded, his hands working to check your wounds, despite the fact that you knew you were done for. Even if he’d gotten here in the two minutes before your lungs started to fill with claret, you didn’t have much of a chance. ‘Just hold on, sweetheart, we can...we can fix this.’ He looked up to the sky, screaming loudly. ‘Cas!’

You shook your head gently, wincing at the pain it caused. ‘Dean...don’t…’

‘He can save you,’ Dean urged, dropping his eyes back to yours, tears spilling down his cheeks. A longing ache to wipe them away seized you, but your useless arms refused to cooperate. You’d never touch him again. ‘Please, baby -’

‘He won’t,’ you whispered, blinking slowly. The world was beginning to fuzz around the edges and you knew you didn’t have long left. ‘Thank you...for coming. I wanted...I wanted to see you again.’

‘A hundred and seventy four days,’ he mumbled, a choked sob escaping his throat. ‘I messed it all up, and now I’m gonna...I’m gonna…’

You took a shuddering, sickening wet breath, tasting your own blood heavily on your tongue. ‘You didn’t...mess it up. I should...have come home.’ Dean’s fingers reached over, taking your cold, useless hand. It was a simple need, wanting to squeeze his hand as he held yours, but your body was slipping away, piece by piece. ‘I got...got to see you again.’

The smile you gave him was weak, and didn’t reach your dull eyes anymore. Dean was openly crying now, and you wondered if you were already dead and gone. You could no longer feel where the cold and wet touched your bones, or where the werewolf had torn you open. All that was left was chapped lips and Dean’s tears landing on your bloodied cheeks.

‘I lo...love you,’ you whispered, wishing more than anything you could show him one last time. He had to know, right? Had to know that you’d never stopped?

He nodded, and you felt every ounce of tension leave your body, letting you relax in his arms. For a single second, you were home, in the bunker, watching Netflix whilst curled up into his side. It was warm and comforting; nothing hurt any more.

You’d gone one hundred and seventy-four days without seeing Dean’s face. One hundred and seventy-three nights without much sleep. Fifty-three ignored phone calls. Over four hundred text messages. Seven hunts.

Today was day one hundred and seventy-six. Dean wouldn’t see your face again.


End file.
